


Kept

by beamdowns



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Confinement, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Master/Slave, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Submission, Subspace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamdowns/pseuds/beamdowns
Summary: He rocks in his chair to think of her in the wardrobe, on her knees, her wrists pulled high above her, waiting for him to return.





	1. The Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> I previously posted this work under a different username, since deleted.

  


When the Inquisitor kneels at his feet after Corypheus is defeated, Cullen only blinks.

She looks up at him. Her hands spread on her thighs.

"Will you help me?" she asks; then before he can reply, she amends: "Will you keep me?"

His heart beats hard in his chest. He hadn't known he still had this in him. But he does. He does.

He builds her a wardrobe.

  


  


  


It is a vertical structure, with hooks placed throughout -- in all four top corners, in all four bottom corners, plus three down the back and three down each side. In case he gets creative -- in case they both do -- it's good to be prepared. It's always good to be prepared for these things.

The threat is defeated, but that doesn't mean the work is done. There is still so much left. So many who need help. So many helpless. So many, so far gone.

He is the only one who knows she is one of them. He is the only one who has seen her true self -- the Inquisitor, defeated, helpless. He is the only one she trusts to save her from this life she never wanted. He is the only one she trusts to keep her the way she wants.

He rocks in his chair to think of her in the wardrobe, on her knees, her wrists pulled high above her, waiting for him to return. He thinks of her the way she'd been that morning, stuffed so full in just the way she asked. He thinks of how well she had done, how long she had moaned, when he had fucked her with the dildo he planned to plug her with for well over an hour, pace slow, size daunting. He thinks of how she had shuddered when, once it had been buried within her to the hilt, he had left it there as he'd slid a well-lubricated plug into her arse, then out of it again, and then in, and then out.

He thinks of how she had stayed folded in half for him the entire time, one cheek planted willingly on the bed, her hands bound to the bedpost in front of him as he'd fucked her. He thinks of the way she had finally relaxed, slumped whole against the blankets, when he'd pushed the plug in as deep as it would go into her -- prodded at her with pressure -- before letting go of it at last.

He had taken his hands away, though his erection raged hard against him. He had removed himself from the bed, and he had watched her, so full, so radiant, still bent in half for him and motionless but for the breath in her chest. When it had been enough time -- when he felt his own arousal pull back to a dull roar, when he felt his handle on control was not in question anymore -- he had stepped forward and held his hand against the heat of her, putting the barest pressure on both points of fulfillment at once, as though to remind her of what she had asked of him.

She'd bucked at his touch. He could see the way her arousal eked out around the edges of the dildo, this thick girth held so deep within her, and wonders if she even wants to come anymore. To look at her this way -- rapturous; silent; supplicant -- one would think that this was the only thing she had ever truly wanted in her life.

He'd held both things inside of her with a single hand laid flat against her, even as he'd draped himself over her to mutter in her ear. "You are mine," he'd reminded her; and from the way she'd sagged against the rope holding her hands in the air, the way her mouth had opened to let out a single broken sigh, he had known she understood it to be true. 

He held her like that for nearly an hour, stretched full, unmoving, with pressure where he'd filled her, until his hand was wet. Then, with an approving stroke over her arse where the ball of the plug yet poked out, he had untied her hands from the post and helped her to her feet. 

She had made the most wonderful sound when he had helped her straighten. He imagines how the objects must have shifted within her, how her muscles must have tensed around them, as she'd stood tall after so long bent at the waist.

He'd led her forward by the rope around her wrists and opened the wardrobe, allowing her to stand there -- waiting; submissive -- as he'd found her smallclothes where they'd pooled when he'd instructed her to strip.

"Ah, ah, now," he'd scolded, stepping forward to push the dildo back into her. It was so heavy, and she was so wet. She'd made that sound again, small and delicious, as it had run back into her with only an application of his index finger. "You will stay full for me, Inquisitor. I want you to know that I will never let you free of this again, just as you asked." He'd held her smallclothes in front of him and gestured forward with his head, inviting her to step into them.

She'd hesitated only a second, but then she moved her feet, allowing him to pull the smallclothes up around her hips, just in time to catch the dildo from sliding out of her again.

"Now, it's time for me to go to work." He'd tested a finger against the fabric to ensure the dildo was not so heavy so as to drag them down. "You will wait for me where I can find you for when I return. Is there anything you would like to say before you go inside?"

The Inquisitor's eyes had found his. Her mouth had stayed closed. He'd wondered what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all.

"No watchword?" he'd prompted, as though to remind her of what they'd agreed.

She had shaken her head. Cullen had looked down to see the muscles of her abdomen working, as though trying desperately to keep the dildo within her.

He had smiled, then, and taken the rope trailing from her wrists back into his hands. "All right." He'd led her toward the open wardrobe. "I want you to kneel for me, facing outward. It will be hard on your knees, but you will thank me when next I see you."

She had done as she was asked, her wrists held aloft all the while to accommodate the rope that Cullen held. When she was in position, he'd looped the rope through the hook along the back edge of the wardrobe and pulled it tight, until her breasts were exposed and her shoulders were raised high.

"You will be quiet while I am working," he'd told her. "If you make a sound, they will know what you are. Do you want that, Inquisitor?"

She'd shaken her head, and he had been satisfied.

"Very well," he'd said, and closed the wardrobe doors. He had held her eye until the very last second before she was encapsulated in darkness.

He thinks of this, now, his hands tensing against the edge of his desk.

It has been six hours. It has been six hours since he bound the Inquisitor, since he filled her as she asked, since he made her _kept_ , and he has not heard a single sound out of her. Not one single motion. She has remained, stuffed, his, to the exclusion of all else, for six whole hours.

When he opens the wardrobe another hour after that, he finds her with her head bowed, the rope taut, her body growing slack at the sudden opening of the door. She blinks herself to attention, squinting hard against the light of the candles in the corners of the room; and when he tests his hand against her smallclothes he feels the weight of the dildo immediately, heavy where he'd left it, surrounded by a damp cloud of arousal in the fabric that held it in place.

She engages her muscles at the sight of him again and kneels straighter, as though it may please him better to see her ready for him. It could not be further from the case. He may never again in his life experience the rush he felt when he saw her leaning against the wardrobe as though in surrender to what she'd become -- feeling the pressure where her wrists were bound; feeling the ache of the objects shoved within her; feeling the wood against her knees and her breasts where she leaned.

"Did you enjoy your day, Inquisitor?" he asks her, voice cracking in his throat.

The Inquisitor's eyes find him, and -- with a blink, as though to register the question after so long lost in herself is too much -- she nods.

"Would you like to stay here?" he asks. "Where you are now, on your knees, where I can find you?"

She nods again, shifting her weight from side to side, her eyes flickering at the sensation.

"You would like to stay _my_ Inquisitor -- kept for me, just like this, for me to decide what to do with you?"

The Inquisitor nods again. 

Today is the day Cullen knows for certain that the Maker has either blessed him or forsaken him entirely, after all.

  


  


  


He waits to fuck her. He waits to give her all of what she wants. There is, after all, something to be valued in building expectations. 

There is something to be said for teasing, as well.

The conversation they had had before starting all this had been frank. The Inquisitor had been very clear about what she'd wanted. "It was a germ of a thought, at first," she'd indulged, when he'd brought her up from her knees and invited her at least to sit in a chair. "Something that occurred to me when there were sudden legions of mages coming through Skyhold. I passed four of them at a time and I thought, _imagine if they claimed me._ I thought -- what a relief it would be, if they would make me theirs." 

She had blushed; turned her gaze from him, looked to the wall. "I hadn't meant to think it. It had only happened the once at first. But then in the tavern, I looked at the Chargers and thought, _I wonder if they'd keep me._ Then in the war room, I thought, _They could make me theirs and never let me leave._ I imagined myself tied to the war table, with your cock in my mouth, while Josephine and Leliana filled me from below. I imagined myself tied underneath it while Josephine held meetings, mouth full, cunt full, arse full, immobile and -- _owned_ \--"

"Slow down," Cullen had asked, holding a hand in the air. "You've lost me. You want to bring Leliana and Josephine into this?"

"No. Or... not really. I don't believe they would allow -- what I'm going to ask of you." She'd blushed again. "I don't believe they'd be as willing as you might, to do… what I want you to."

"And what is it you want me to do? Apart from -- keep you."

"That's the thing. I want -- you to commit to me, to _keeping_ me. It's not fair, I realize. We have had a turbulent relationship before."

"You mean how you forced me back on lyrium?"

The Inquisitor had blinked. "Yes."

He'd waited, but she'd offered nothing more. "Is that part of it?" he'd asked eventually.

"Yes," she'd said again.

"You want me to keep you as a templar keeps a mage."

"No. I am no mage. I want you to keep me as a man keeps -- a -- vessel to be filled. I want -- to be filled, Commander. I… _ache_ to be filled. It has built on me, day after day after day, ever since I got this damnable mark on my hand. Every time I have been asked to do something, I have felt it _aching_ \-- in my cunt, in my throat, in the deepest parts of me I don't know how to reach. But you -- know what it is to predict my needs. You have been doing it for the better part of a year. You -- have learned to read me just by looking at me. You have learned how to keep me just through your duties as Commander of the Inquisition." She'd looked at him -- direct; certain. "So I want you to keep me until I am free from the Inquisitor. I want you to hold me still and stuff me to my limits. I want you to push into me until I know only how to quiver. I want you to make me yours and only yours, I wish to cease being this; I want you to use the skills you have built and make me feel finally as though something is no longer _missing from me_."

Silence had fallen between them for some time after that.

"You want peace," he'd summarized, after a while.

The Inquisitor had sighed as though understood. " _Yes,_ " she'd said.

"And to feel peace -- to be free from the Inquisitor -- you need for that--" he'd pointed to her hand-- "to _stop._ "

"Yes."

"And for that to stop, you need a _templar_ to remove the magics from you."

She'd shut her eyes and nodded, as though listening to gospel. Her hands were folded so neatly on her knee; he can still see them, the way her knuckles bent long and draped over the folds of her garment. "Yes," she'd whispered.

"And what is the end game with all this?"

The Inquisitor had opened her eyes and looked at him, almost as though she'd been surprised he'd been there. In hindsight, he realizes she had dipped into the recesses of her mind she so desperately wanted to inhabit full-time, in that moment. He loves this memory. He revels in it. It gives him strength when his duties grow weary. "What do you mean?"

"Suppose I -- _keep_ you. As you ask. Suppose I stuff you full and somehow -- remove you from yourself, although how I'm still not clear."

"I do not wish to be the Inquisitor any longer," she'd said, firm.

"I understand."

"I have lived enough of her life. I wish now to live my own."

Cullen had paused to sigh, shaking his head. "Inquisitor--"

" _Don't_ call me that."

"Trust me," he'd said only; and, as though understanding him perfectly, she'd fallen silent then, blinking.

 _Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all,_ he'd thought to himself.

"It sounds to me," he'd begun again, "as though you are telling me you wish to live a life only as an enslaved being. Without any will of your own."

"Yes. That is precisely what I'm saying."

Cullen had blinked. He hadn't expected that answer. "Why?"

"You would be responsible for me," she'd said simply. "You would predict my needs. You would give me what I needed. I would be free."

"Inquisitor--"

"I. Would. Be. Free."

He'd waited, but she had only stared. "Bound and filled, you would be free," he'd repeated.

"Yes."

"I don't buy it."

"Don't you?" She'd blinked at him, at once calm and yet challenging. "Tell me something. When you were in the deepest recesses of your withdrawal -- when you _thirsted_ for it, day and night, when it was all you could _think_ about--"

"Get on with it."

"--Did you not, even in some small way, in fact _pray_ to be delivered from the choice you were facing?" She'd looked at him and waited, yet he'd had the impression she'd known the answer. "Did you not want, more than anything in the world, to fall to your knees and be hooked up to a lyrium vein direct, only to stay there for all eternity, feeling nothing, choosing nothing, knowing only _surrender_ until the end of days?"

Cullen had had nothing to say. That had been it exactly.

"Life is short, Commander," the Inquisitor had continued. "You chose the vein, but you also chose something else -- strength. Me?" She'd shrugged. "I've done my time. I've paid my penance. The only desire I have left in the world -- the only thing I wish to do, and which I feel is my right, now that I have successfully saved the world -- is to be _kept. Permanently._ " She'd thrown a hand in the air as though to have made her point abundantly clear. "And I want you to be the one to keep me. I want it to be your cock that fills me, day after day. I want it to be you who holds me in place and makes me feel what it is I want to feel. I want it to be your hand pushing objects into my cunt, my arse, my mouth, until all I can do is _feel_ what you have done to me. I want you to take the strength that you have chosen for yourself and show me what it is _for_ " 

When she had paused, her chest had heaved with heavy breaths. "I've seen the way you look at me," she'd said at last, "and I want it. I want to give us both our basest desires in this world. I can only hope you want it to."

And -- incidentally -- he had.

"Let me understand you," he'd said. "You want me to do as I want with you, for as long as I want, on my terms, simply because you have asked."

"Yes."

He'd stared at her, blinking. "When do we start?" he'd said at last.

A beat passed before the Inquisitor's face registered relief. It was as though she had barely dared to believe what he was truly offering.

"That is up to you, of course," she'd said, the edge gone from her tone for the first time since they'd met. "But there is one other caveat I have before we begin."

  


  


  


The agreement was: he would keep her _properly._ He would use her at his whim. He will keep her stuffed at all times in at least one orifice -- her cunt, her arse, her mouth -- as she had requested. He would not waver from this; not unless she watchworded out.

He would remind her what her watchword was. He would remind her to use it when he saw the need. She wanted to be taken so entirely out of herself that she would need the reminders; that much was immediately clear to them both. She'd insisted she would not use the word, of course, but he'd insisted he would not be saddled with her abuse and enforced this caveat anyway. He'd promised to do this in contexts where, if she was _forced_ to remember that she was a person, she would be reminded in the next second just how kept she was. How she was _his_ and not for herself. This had allowed her to agree to this. Cullen had been satisfied to hear it.

She would not make a sound. She would not step out of line. She would fill her role and her role only as a vessel for him; she would be _his_ , and only his, from this point forward. She would be put away until he wanted her. She would be filled when she was not in use.

It would end when _she_ decided, but only then. He would commit to keeping her until then, even if it meant for the rest of their lives.

The hardest part of all this was that the Inquisitor would have to die.

"I'm not sure what it says about me that this is the part I find hardest to agree with," he'd muttered. "I'm to -- _lie_ to everyone about what happened to you?"

"Not exactly," she'd replied. "You may tell them that you don't know what happened to the Inquisitor, which is true. Once I am under your care, I won't be the Inquisitor any longer. That's the point."

"But I will know where _you_ are."

"You will know I am right where you left me, waiting for you to use at your whim. But that person will not be the Inquisitor, for I will have stopped being the Inquisitor the second we agree it."

"So I am to fake your death for you, essentially."

"Yes."

"You're awfully cavalier about having your life stripped from you, and your will for that matter. I still find it hard to believe--"

"We've been over this," she'd cut off. "I want only this. I want only to be yours; for you to sustain your claim over me. This life is too much; it does not interest me. Its owner will be better off deceased."

"Inquisitor--"

" _Stop -- calling -- me --_ "

"I will remind you of what you used to be," Cullen had said loudly, cutting her off. "I will remind you of your alternative. When you are _kept_ for me -- when you are mine and mine alone -- I will call you by your title. In a single word I will inform you of all that you have sacrificed, now that you are kept. And you will submit to me all the better for it. Is that clear now?"

Her face had changed entirely; all contempt had drained from it. Though her posture had not altered, he could see she was at his whim.

Then, silent, she had nodded.

He liked her silent. He told her so.

She had nodded again, holding his eye -- unmoving. He held her eye for as long as it took him to bring his arousal back down to a manageable level.

"Good," he'd muttered eventually, getting to his feet. "I think this will work out quite well."

She, too, had risen. "Does this mean you will have me, even if it means spreading the rumour of my death?"

"I will have to stick with a disappearance. Will that please you enough?"

The Inquisitor had nodded; swallowed heavily. "Yes," she'd whispered.

"Good. I want to please you."

"I know. I want you to."

"It pleases me to learn that you thought I would like to keep you. I imagine you have been thinking of this for some time."

She had nodded. She was being silent, the way he liked.

He'd nodded, too; allowed himself at last to reach out and touch a thumb to her cheek. "How long do you need to prepare?" he'd muttered.

"Two days," she'd whispered. Her hands quivered; she'd clenched them in his jacket, as though asking him to take her then.

"Two days, then," he'd agreed; then, muttering a single word in her ear, he'd asked her to strip before him so he could assess her dimensions properly for all the things he would do to her.

  



	2. The Initiation

  


She had stripped before him. He had maneuvered her -- had her hold one of her arms out to the side, then the other, then bent her at the waist and had her hold onto his desk, stark naked and exposed.

She had been wet for him already. Cullen had moved behind her and tested his fingers against her -- spread her arousal widely, his fingers coating wetness over labia, surrounding her clit, before he delved his fingers deep into slick and heat and spread it along the inside of her thighs as well. She was... so beautiful; muscular, taut, sleek, ready for him. He _wanted_ to take advantage of this opportunity -- wanted to stuff anything he could find into her, to make her feel it. He wanted to make her keen, even more than she already did. He thought about grabbing the wine bottle on his desk and testing it against her until it was slick; thought about making her rock back onto it once its tip had been nudged inside her, here, with her hands on his desk, until she'd fucked herself on it so thoroughly that only the curve of the bottle itself protruded from between her lips.

But that sounded less than safe, and he had always been good with control. It was about to become to his detriment, he could see that.

He'd removed his fingers. "Very well. I have the information I need."

Her head had risen, but her hands had not moved from the desk. "Are you sure?" she'd asked. There was an edge to her voice that had told Cullen just _how much_ she wanted this, how _desperately_ she wished he would take her now and relieve her of her burdens.

"I'm sure. I need time to prepare… for the most part." He'd grabbed at her arse, just the once; squeezed, to feel the flesh of it in his palm. Then he'd wandered back to his desk, and looked at her face as she stood prostrate before him. 

Candlelight flickered in the corners of the room. He could see their burning flames reflected on the slick on her legs; in the way her sweat had beaded on her brow. She looked just as beautiful from here -- the way her breasts hung pendulously to the ground, the way her face looked up at him from between her shoulders, expectant and reverent, still bent in half, as he hadn't yet told her to straighten. 

"Stand," he'd said.

She was reluctant to move out of readiness, but she'd done as she was told. She'd shifted her weight from one foot to the other, standing hippily in front of him. "Shall I leave you?" she asked, voice shaking.

"No. Wait while I attend to some things."

"Wait here?"

"Right there. I want to look at you while I work."

And so she had waited, watching him, still as any person could be for near an hour.

Cullen had known then just how much he was going to like keeping her.

He enjoyed every second that he made her wait. He signed his name to myriad papers, then he signed his name on some things that didn't need his signature. He was waiting for time to pass; he was trying to make her strain. She did not move a muscle. She did not say a word.

At last, he rose from his desk, balancing somewhere between decisive and satisfied. "I have a request," he'd told her, "but you have two days left of free will. You need not do it if you do not want."

"What is it?"

"I assume you have something you fill yourself with from time to time."

She had hesitated; but, perhaps realizing she had nothing to lose, she'd nodded. "Several."

 _Several._ A better answer than anticipated. "Bring them to me."

She'd stared at him, thinking. Always so much thinking. He looked forward to relieving her of that. 

"Why?" she'd ground out. 

If Cullen had to guess, she'd hated thinking about it as much as he had hated to see it from her. "I want to see what you like," he'd said only. "As I said, you have two days. You need not do it. You may get dressed again either way."

The Inquisitor had stared at him a moment more, then begun to locate her clothes without another word.

He had watched her leave the tower. Then he had waited at his desk in unmoving silence, moved to peace by her example.

She had returned with a large box within ten minutes, as he had known she would.

It slid across his desk as she hefted it toward him. "If you will not use them on me tonight, I would like very much to have them back," she'd said, briskly; still far too much herself.

He'd pried open the lid, then smiled at her, genuine. "So you may fill _yourself_ in your remaining days of freedom, if I will not do it for you?"

A pause, but then -- "Yes. Though it would not be the same. I hope you'll consider my request."

"To fill you tonight."

"Yes."

He had pulled his gaze away from her and looked through the box's contents. They were all dildos, all of various sizes -- made of wood, glass, stone, steel. He liked the stone ones best; they had a clear heft when he held them in his hands. He picked one up -- something large, shining, slate in colour. He'd imagined the way it must feel to her when it is sliding in. He'd imagined how, if she found herself properly prepared and then held upside down, he might content himself to watch its slow decline into her -- gravity pulling it deeper within her without his touching it at all, inch by blessed inch.

He hadn't looked at her; he had set that one down and picked up one of the largest. It was made of some looser material, like rubber, perhaps to help with flexibility. Cullen wondered how much stretching, how much _time_ it would take before something of this size would fit snug against her. "Very impressive," he'd said. He'd taken it in both hands, as though to feel its heft -- and still did not look at her.

"Thank you," she said. It was the first time since she has been before him that night that she actually sounded nervous.

He'd ticked his gaze up at last. "Have you used all of these?"

She'd swallowed, then shaken her head. "No." It was a whisper; was this shame or anticipation? "I... no, as I say -- it is not the same when I use them on myself. I am only -- it is only --" She'd given a noise of frustration. "It is not merely that I _am filled_ , but rather that I am filled for the pleasure of another."

"You wish to be stripped of choice in the matter. You wish to be given consequences if you do not comply."

The Inquisitor had nodded. "I want -- to feel as though I should not take it out. I want to feel as though I am _meant_ to be filled. As though I have been -- made to."

"Forced to."

"Yes."

"Brought to against your will."

"Yes."

"Although it is your will."

She had nodded. "Yes," she'd whispered, then swallowed, hard and stubborn.

He'd tested the dildo in his hand again, just to watch the craving and compulsion spark in her eye. "Do you enjoy being bound?" he asked her.

Her eyes seem to slide out of focus at the suggestion. "I believe that I would like it, very much."

"You are not accustomed to it."

"I have not had the opportunity to explore it."

He'd nodded. There had been a long pause as he had placed the large dildo back in the box and pulled out another one of a more modest size. "What about this one?" 

It had been black, flexible, flared at the base, and shaped like a cock of a regular size. It was much more like something he would have expected a young woman to own. "Have you used this one on yourself?"

The Inquisitor had nodded; remained silent.

"Do you like it?"

Another nod.

"What would happen if I _did_ use it on you now? Would it please you?"

"It would," she'd said, and cleared her throat.

"You want more."

She'd hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Well, all in due time. You must still function regularly over the next two days, let's not forget."

She'd given a shaky smile, unsure whether he'd told a joke. Her gaze had remained focused on the dildo.

Cullen is not a man without compassion, and so he'd stood after a fashion, when watching her stare at the dildo in building tension had lost its appeal. "And you said you wished to be filled in _all_ your orifices?"

"I -- yes. The... more the better."

"Really. Interesting." He'd stopped beside her on the other side of his desk and leaned against it, holding the dildo with a fond smile. "And if I held this out now for you to fellate?" He had demonstrated just how he would hold it in the air for her, in such an event. "Would you?"

She had stared at him. It was the first time since he had begun exploring the contents of this box that he had attracted more of her attention than had a toy. "Yes."

"Would you like to?"

"Yes."

"Standing here for me, fully clothed?"

"Yes."

"If I asked you to now, would you?"

"Yes, please."

 _Please._ Oh, _Maker_. 

"Do it," he commanded.

To watch her lips breaching over the dildo -- just the tip, at first, forming full and round at its end -- had been another of those memories Cullen had felt sure he would never forget.

"Breathe," he had told her. Her breath had broken suddenly through her nose, as though she truly had forgotten it. "You will show me what you are willing to take. I will hold it just here; I will not move it at all. You will show me how it pleases you. Go."

And so her mouth had bobbed, back and forth, taking more and more of the dildo into her mouth with each stroke, until she had swallowed it down to the back of her throat.

And then -- miraculously, Cullen might have thought, if that descriptor fit more with the moment -- she had held, there, held the fullness of it wholly within her. Her lips had rested against Cullen's finger and thumb where he held it for her. "Good," he had murmured, feeling an encouraging smile on his lips. "Good. Good. Good. Pull off."

She did; she took a breath as she pulled back, and though her lips poised over the head of it she still did not detach from it altogether. She held his eye, there, suckling, waiting for his permission for something; and when he gave it with a nod of his head, she had flexed her mouth back down over the length of it, slow, deep, until it had saddled itself fully in her mouth again.

The seconds dragged on; her throat worked for a moment, and then it was another fraction of an inch into her before he heard her breath cut off by virtue of her dedication. Cullen held her eye and waited, unmoving as he promised he would, finding himself murmuring, "Good, good," again and again as the look in her eye evolved with each passing moment.

To see her unable to draw breath for the thickness that blocked it made him proud of her in a way the Inquisition never had. Cullen knew, in this moment, that he was merely a passive actor. He was serving as a commanding prop; he had instructed her to show him how she wanted to be kept, and she was choosing to show him such intense vulnerability -- such fragility; even _mortality_ \-- that he could not quite know how to respond. He held the toy, but he did not touch her; he had asked for something, but he hadn't asked for _this._ The choice remained hers. She was choosing this. She was _choosing_ \-- to show him _this._

It must have been a full minute later when she finally pulled back and took a harsh, shuddering breath into her lungs. Her lips, still unwilling to detach from its length altogether, formed around again over its tip; her shoulders heaved, as did her breast. Cullen counted his heartbeats for how loud they were in his ears. By the Maker, he wanted to take her. He wanted to see her submit herself against him in just the same way.

But wasn't all this just an exercise in control -- for the both of them?

"Good," he had said again, and watched as she had bobbed her mouth back over the dildo, halfway and then off. She had paused, taken a breath; then she had set a slower pace again, halfway and then off, halfway and then off. Her breath still shook out of her nose. She tried to regulate it as she moved. Her hands grasped on the desk next to where he was half-seated atop it, and he could see the tension in the way they held on -- the way _she_ held on -- as though to take the cock he held to her was something she was physically desperate to do well. 

She had taken it again and again and again to the back of her throat, interspersed with the pace she had set for herself, her cheeks sucking around it with each closure of her breath, as though she required its length in her to live. Gentle moans escaped her on occasion, soft, involuntary sounds; her hips had swiveled in the moments when she lost control over herself, as though the fact that her cunt was still empty put her in physical discomfort. 

Her eyes began to flicker shut; Cullen saw something edge into them when they were opened again, an ebbing of their usual sharpness, as though she were sliding out of focus with her thoughts. In these moments coincided a particular surrender to the rhythm of her mouth as she fellated this useless rubber thing. It was as though she was caring for it, subconsciously; he imagined the close of her throat around the head of it was equivalent to embrace.

Cullen had watched this, transfixed, for twenty full minutes, before his arm had grown too tired to hold it still aloft. He had been still the entire time, apart from uttered affirmations he had been helpless but to express. She had been so beautiful that he had dared not interrupt her, and in the end it had been _he_ who had tired before she had; she surely would have kept going for as long as he watched her, simply _because_ he watched her, and because he had asked.

That -- spoke volumes he could not yet parse.

Twice more she had taken it deep into her throat, enveloping herself around it and _staying_ , her breath lost to her dedication. She had held Cullen's gaze both times, punctuated only by slow, trancelike blinks -- until her eyes had begun to water and she'd been forced to retreat by sheer necessity of life, breath filling her shakily, as though it competed with her need.

"You're so good for me, Inquisitor," he'd heard himself murmuring as she set a slow, shuddering pace each time. "You take it so well."

It had been so easy to grow fond of her. She had become his in a matter of hours.

When he'd pulled the dildo out of her mouth at last -- to give his arm a break more than her throat -- it had given a soft _pop_ as it left her mouth; she'd chased it with swollen lips. "Ah, now," he'd said, and pressed his other hand whole, heavy, and gentle against her face to still her. "I won't leave you lacking, Inquisitor; you've proven what you deserve. You have offered me much. I would be remiss not to give you something in return."

The Inquisitor had looked at the dildo in his hand, and then at him, her lips still parted. She looked concerned that she no longer had something to occupy her. "I'm sorry," she'd said, remembering that she was still meant to give responses. "What do you have in mind?"

"How would you feel if I left this with you?"

She'd looked at it, and then again at him. "How?"

"Within you."

She had swallowed; her mouth had closed at once. Then, something reigniting in her eyes, she had nodded.

"You have two days left to you," he'd reminded her. "You need not do as I ask; your will is your own. But since you have gotten it properly lubricated--" he'd held it in the air, rotating it so as to showcase the sloppy slick of her saliva -- "I thought we might take advantage of the situation. You shall be filled, Inquisitor, if you truly wish it tonight. All you need to do is disrobe and stand for me as you did half an hour ago, with your hands against the desk."

She had blinked at him -- her only hesitation -- as though to process what he'd said for all the images entrenched in her mind. But then she'd sprung into action, and it was not even a minute before she was nude and bent before him, hands on the desk, her skin damp and shining in the candlelight.

He walked around her and watched her limbs quake with wanton anticipation. Cullen had placed his hand on her hindquarters -- only rested it there with gentility and fondness -- and a shiver had radiated through her as though just to be touched brought her closer to release. 

It was like this, with his fingers massaging at her flesh, that he'd coaxed the dildo into her cunt -- only the tip, at first, pausing there until she'd keened and shaken and begun to push herself back onto it, just by the slightest inch.

Though he loved to see her keen, he knew this would not do for either one of them. His hand moved to her hip and _held_ , his grip tight with intention. "You have your will, Inquisitor," he had muttered to her, stilling her movements, "but these tactics are my own. And as I _remain_ your tactics commander, I must _strongly recommend_ that you wait patiently for what I am offering you, given that it is, at this stage, from the goodness of my heart."

She'd made a sound -- a sob? -- as though he were much crueller than he felt; but she did not move again once he'd loosened his grip, so he'd hummed at her approvingly.

"Good." The hand he'd held at her hip ghosted around to hold at her stomach instead. He'd turned the dildo where it just barely broached her, and then he had started sliding it slowly, slowly in -- his hand splayed against her abs, reveling in the way her muscles worked to hold her still. 

There was _so_ much resistance; she was so tight. He'd stopped and pulled out again -- just to the tip, as he'd seen her do with her mouth just minutes before -- and waited, marveling at the slick arousal coating the cock.

She had gasped and shaken, but she had stood in place.

Cullen had always been inclined to reward good behavior.

His fingers reached down, away from her stomach, and brushed against her clit as he pushed it in again. As she gasped and tensed against him, trying desperately neither to move forward nor back lest she risk disobeying a command, Cullen wondered distantly what he ever could have done to deserve this gift from the Maker:

A willing body, so obedient to his command.

  



	3. The Relinquishing

  


He had kept this promise and left the cock in her, once it was seated to its base.

"Thank you," she had whispered when it was done, and kept her head bowed, as though in reverence.

He had not allowed her to come, and still she had thanked him. Though his fingers had remained near her clit, brushing chastely against it as though getting acquainted, he had still not applied much pressure or intention. After a time, when she was left unable to prevent her hips from bucking against the slow stretch of the dildo as he filled her with it, he had held his fingers a stable distance away from her and let her brush against them with every involuntary thrust. The result had been spectacular; she had tended to buck again, away from his fingers, thus thrusting herself further onto the dildo and forcing out of her a moan. 

So Cullen had spent fifteen minutes serving as a two-point pleasuring device for someone at once desperate for stimulation and utterly deferrent to his instructions not to seek it out for herself. If he wasn't ragingly hard before, he had become so by then. Yet he had maintained his control; he had held the dildo within her, careful fingers on its flared base, once it was fully seated within her, until her breath had shuddered to a more regular pace and he felt free to let it go.

He had draped himself over her so that it was held in place by the weight of his lap against her, his hands covering hers where they still tensed against the desk.

"Does it not ache," he'd muttered, mouth by her ear, "to leave it inside you like this?"

"It does," she'd whispered, face to the floor.

"But less than if there were nothing within you at all?"

He had heard her swallow; she had nodded. "Not less. Better."

He had shifted so his erection had slid against the cleft of her arse, even through his clothing. "You feel better, Inquisitor, now that you are stuffed for me?"

The Inquisitor had nodded, her hands clenching harder to the desk beneath his.

"I have another request," Cullen had said. Two of his fingers had found her clit again, but only stayed, immobile, pressing soft. "You have your will. You need not do it if it perturbs you."

"I'll do it," she'd muttered.

"You ought to hear it first."

She'd rocked against him, not forward but back, as though to nudge the dildo yet deeper. "I want to."

Cullen had chuckled, low and seductive in her ear. "Why, _Inquisitor._ "

It had been a test; she had moaned, as though to hear her title now, utterly fucked before him, had been another notch closer to losing herself to oblivion.

"I want you to leave this in for me." His fingers had left her clit to tap instead at the base of the dildo. "Before you leave here, you will do a test to see if you can keep it within you. I think you can. If that's so, you will wear it full time for me, for two days, without removal."

"I don't…"

She trailed off before the words truly left her, but something other than arousal pulled at him at the implication. "You must, I'm afraid," he'd reminded her. "You must be the Inquisitor for two more days. I am sorry, darling. But I am giving you the option to occupy a middle ground. If you keep this cock in you -- if you do not touch it, if you wear it under your clothes, through meetings and meals as though the Inquisitor was meant to be fucked just so -- I will allow you to come when you forsake yourself to me. So you will have something to look forward to, to occupy you, as you fill your responsibilities."

She had given a sound between a wail and a moan; lust had struck at him again, very nearly making him _salivate_ for her. "Two more days," she'd muttered, her neck hanging slack as his fingers pressed against her.

"That's right. That's all." He'd tapped at the base of the dildo again, and then grabbed at it gently, pulsing it deeper within her when she'd ground against him. "I will keep you either way, Inquisitor; I am a man of my word. The difference lies in whether I allow you release _while_ I stuff you to your limits, or whether I wait until you have proven you deserve it."

A curse had cut half-aborted out of her throat; she tested herself against the hand at the dildo once more. "I want to," she'd muttered. "Keep it in."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You have your choice."

"What if I -- _need_ to remove it, temporarily? And then want it back in?"

"How temporarily?"

"Mmm -- minutes."

"Then you may come to me and I shall remove it for you. I shall put it back as well. This cock is mine, now, do you understand? Just as you are. It belongs to me and so shall you, and so I shall control its use just as I will you. It will remain an extension of you, a part of you now, until I divine otherwise. You will not touch either it or yourself if you wish to appease me. You will remain impaled for meetings; you will remain stuffed as you sleep. If being filled to my whim is truly what you were meant for, Inquisitor, you will manage this."

He'd removed his hand and stepped back. She had nearly collapsed onto her elbows against the desk. But when he'd asked her to move around the room -- to show him what she looked like when she was both fucked and functioning -- she had done it, and he had reveled to see her limbs shake.

To see her move as she did -- it was as though, in a way, her muscles had atrophied in the time it had taken to stuff her to fullness. She'd managed a few quaking steps; then she'd straightened, shaking her hands as though to loosen her up. The dildo's base had seemed almost to disappear into her, becoming an inconspicuous black flare at her labia. 

Arousal rose within him again as she found her footing -- easier, faster than he would have imagined. It truly _was_ as though she was built for this. He watched her parade herself around, impaled, flushed, fucked, and felt nearly to be suffocating with desire. 

He'd forced himself to swallow, to moisten his lips. "Will it stay freely within you?"

She had only nodded at the floor, her expression serious and distracted.

"Can you feel it, when you move?"

She had nodded again.

"Good. I want you to. I want you to wear it within you and think of me with every twinge. You may remove it at any time, as we agreed -- if you think you can endure the promise of what is to come, without knowing when you will be given release." He'd looked at her appraisingly, but from afar, his arms crossed over his chest. "But I must tell you that you look the part, Inquisitor. At once poised and impaled. A delicate balance, to function yet still. I don't envy you."

She had blinked at him and shivered, emotionless but for the raw desire bright in her eyes. She envied it of herself. He knew that much by now.

"You may dress," he'd said dismissively.

And so she had. Every time she bent to pick up an item, she had done so with a delightful tenderness, as though she could hardly bear it and yet felt stimulated at every turn. Each movement affected her; her hips swayed with the effort of maintaining control. Once, as she'd straightened fully dressed, her hand seemed to move to adjust it, but she'd caught herself just in time, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"No mistakes, Inquisitor," Cullen had warned darkly; and as she left him moments later without another word, he could see from the way she bowed her head that she knew he was serious, and planned to hold him to it.

  


  


If she had not come to him occasionally in the days that followed so that he could remove it from her, only to press it slowly, achingly back in with feigned disinterest upon quick return, he would have doubted that she could have possibly succeeded at the task he'd set.

If she had not been _so_ quiet in the war room -- so wonderfully obedient when he'd asked her to pass him a quill, or to walk across the room for him to fetch his notes -- he would have doubted it, too. If he hadn't found her throughout the castle, again and again, poised with a cant to her hips and a hand in a doorway so many times over the days that followed, standing motionless and expressionless but for that glassy arousal in her gaze, he never would have believed that she could have stayed stuffed for him the entire time.

But then she had arrived in his office on the morning they'd agreed, disguised as a scout, her fingertips barely holding her steady as she'd thrown paperwork onto his desk.

He had believed it then.

"I am ready," she'd told him, with a quake in her voice. That telltale poise to her backside told him the dildo was still firmly seated within her.

Cullen had given pause; looked at the paperwork, then up at her with a cocked eyebrow. They were papers authorizing a pay raise -- for himself. 

"I didn't ask for this," he'd told her.

"Upkeep." She'd looked to the side and cleared her throat. " _Containment._ You'll have -- expenses."

"I have coin of my own."

"I have asked you to be responsible for another human being indefinitely, Commander. The least I can do is offer remuneration."

"You want to -- _pay_ me to use you."

"I want to reimburse to you the money you will spend on me."

"Let us not pretend this arrangement burdens me overly much, Inquisitor."

"You are servicing me," she'd said thinly. "Leliana and Josephine signed off on it this morning. I've given them raises, too, to throw off suspicion now that I'm gone, and so it's all done, Cullen, will you please sign the papers and just--"

"You are paying me for -- my sex work?"

"I am paying you to serve as my Commander, same as ever. Is that not what you are?"

Cullen had stared at her. 

"Are you not?" she'd repeated, voice coarse with desperation.

He found it hard to deny her in the end. He wondered what that made of him. "I am," he admitted.

"Then take the damned money. I hardly have need for it any longer, but it should still go toward keeping -- me -- sated, or -- _listen,_ will you bloody well stop _arguing_ with me and _please_ just--"

She'd cut off immediately when he'd raised his chin at her plea, perhaps hearing the need that filled her voice too obviously. Cullen had stared at her for a time, holding her gaze, as she shook gently against the fingers steepled against his desk in those scout's clothes.

"Do you mean to beg me, when you beg me?" he asked, voice low.

The Inquisitor had stared at him. Her eyes flickered closed; she'd swallowed; she'd quaked. "No."

"You are helpless but to beg me. Is that what you're saying?"

"Y...es."

"Have I truly been so successful at earning your submission to me before we've even begun?"

"I think you know perfectly well that you have owned me for two days already."

The corners of Cullen's mouth had risen. "Imagine if that were the last phrase uttered of your own free will," he murmured.

She had stared at him in silence, as though she wished it so.

He'd set the papers aside at last, smile on his face. "Very well." He had looked away from her then. "You may go upstairs. Remove your disguise; you will have no need for clothing anymore. Get your head in order, you look a right mess. I will be there momentarily."

She had done as he'd asked, but he already intended to give her time -- to leave her waiting, to let her feel her pulse throbbing in her cunt absent any distractions. He liked the thought of her not knowing when he would finally give her what she wanted from him; he liked the thought that she felt unable to ask him, now that she had been properly reprimanded for her begging. 

When he did climb the ladder at last, it was to find her kneeling on the bed, her hands clasped behind her, her head bowed, the flared base of the dildo visible where her legs were parted. Her clothes lay scattered throughout the room, as though she'd been too distracted to care where they'd landed. 

He'd loved the visual of her desperate to get them off -- of her desperate for him, even when he was not there. "You look wonderful," he'd muttered in her ear, leaning over to press his fingers to where the dildo poked out of her. "Did you do as I asked of you, Inquisitor? Did you keep it in like I asked?"

"I kept it in like you asked," she'd whispered, wonderfully dutiful.

"Did you touch yourself?"

"I did not touch myself."

He had nodded; tested his fingers gently against where she stayed clenched tight around thick rubber. Then he'd grabbed hold of its end, twisted it just a tick to the side -- then pulled it out of her in a single, sweeping movement. 

He watched her shudder as he did it, unable to prevent his smile. "Remember this moment, Inquisitor; this is the last time I will let you go empty. From this point on, you will be filled. From this point on, you will be kept. You will be mine and mine alone, for me to do with you as I please, at my whim, for my use, at all times. Your watchword is Kinloch; you may use it as you need. Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"Concerns? Last words?"

"No."

"Do you still want to be kept?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"More than anything."

"Beg me to keep you."

" _Please_ will you keep me, I want you to keep me--"

"What is your watchword?"

"Kinloch."

Cullen had smiled as the breath had left her lungs as she'd spoken, as though forced out by desire. Then he'd stepped behind him and pulled the box she had given him out from under the bed.

He'd taken his time; he enjoyed it to look at her like this, wound so tight with desire. Her hair hung messily around her face where it escaped from her ponytail. He had the impression she'd had no patience or energy to deal with it over the past days, given how much of her had to focus on functioning around the length stuffed inside her, and he loved the look of it on her -- of having been consumed by obedience, of the shaft shoved within her having so disrupted her activities. 

He wondered how often she'd thought of being kept by him -- how many times an hour, a minute? He wondered if she'd ever thought of anything else. Cullen set the box upon the table beside him and replaced the modest dildo within it, retrieving, one slow loop at a time, a length of rope. 

"To be kept is to be bound, Inquisitor," Cullen told her, "especially in your case. I saw the way you nearly reached for yourself the other day once I'd filled your cunt, as though you could not help but to bring yourself pleasure. Even after I instructed explicitly against it, you reached -- and that will not do at all. So you have earned what I am about to do; it is important to me that you know that. You must understand that you brought this on yourself."

She had remained silent and still at this. His hard-on had ached to look at her, so ready for him.

"Hold your hands out in front of you, wrists together."

She did as he'd asked. He tied them snugly; he took his time; he did not look at her all the while, so that she knew that this was business. Loop after loop after loop he rolled, and then brought the rope across to make sure the rope held her thickly rather than tightly. The aim was to prevent her from wiggling out without compromising circulation. She would be bound like this for some time, after all; longevity was paramount.

When he had finally tied it off, he had tugged gently on the line that strung out in front of her. She had taken the hint; she had followed his lead wordlessly, nudging forward on her knees. Cullen tied the other end of the rope to the bedpost and tested it with a tugging hand for stability. There was very little give; she leaned forward, long lines of her back, her backside, curving, as though inviting him.

"Keep the rope taut," he'd told her. "Kneel as far back from the post as you can, and then fold up for me; put your head down. Expose yourself to me, Inquisitor. That's it -- that's perfect. Now listen carefully, for this is important: your arms must hang long and in the air as we proceed. They may not rest. It is imperative that you _feel_ everything I am about to do to you, Inquisitor. If you do not comply, I will drag you back by force. Do you understand?"

She had showed her understanding by doing just what he had said. When she was bent in half on her knees, arms long up over her head and tight in every sense of the word, he had tested two fingers against her cunt -- prodded into it, just with his fingertips, and then brought his hand away from her.

"I am going to take advantage of how wet you are," he said, rubbing her slick between his fingers. "I am going to stretch you fuller than you have ever been. We will be taking our time, of course; I wish only to bring you pleasure, but that doesn't mean you won't have to put in the work. The work is very important, Inquisitor -- but if at any point I am no longer bringing you pleasure, you must watchword out. Do you understand?"

Her arms out long in front of her, her spine poking out toward him, the Inquisitor had nodded.

"Do you understand? Use words."

"I understand."

"Good. I will not stuff your mouth for now, so that you may speak when I ask it of you. But since you were _so_ good for me in your last days of freedom, I think I shall plug your arse as well as your cunt today." 

He made to rustle around in the box to cover the sound of any noise she might have made, but still he heard her broken sigh, and still he reveled in it. "In order to stretch you out enough for what I want from you, I will have to fuck you -- but do not mistake this fucking as something intended to bring you release, Inquisitor. Preparation will be slow and lengthy, and only once I have finished will you come for me. I hope I have been clear; I would hate to have to punish you before you've proven your worth." He brought out the same black dildo that had last sat within her, still coated with her arousal, and had nudged it just against her cunt without pushing it in. "I am going to begin, now, but I meant what I said. You will not come until you are ready. You have been good for me so far, Inquisitor, you will regret it if you let me down."

Cullen pushed it into her then, slowly, slowly, until it was halfway in. It slid there easily, meeting little resistance; the memory of its shape still remained within her, and Cullen was pleased. He pulled it nearly out again, if slowly, then back in halfway; then out again, then in half once more. He watched the way the rope pulled and shook as she held her arms tight in front of her with every stroke. He listened to the way she beat back the noises coming out of her chest. She was being so good at employing her restraint. He was relieved that she understood the rules.

It was a slow and easy pace, yet wound so tight from the days of being filled with no release, she was so quickly ruined. Strung out and taut, devastated by the way he had chosen to possess her in his denial, he had her keening and moaning in no time at all. The more he fucked her, the higher the tension rose; she seemed to coil up, her torment bodily clear, her arse moving higher and higher in the air until she was rocking on her knees against the cock he pressed against her, desperately seeking more friction.

The rope that held her wrists grew taut and then relaxed with each rocking motion. She had pulled her arms as tight as he'd asked, so there was not much give -- the stretch stayed muscular, along her ribs and her shoulders, surely pulling her in agony the longer she worked.

When he knew she was close -- when he knew she had managed to find an angle that allowed her orgasm to build -- he stopped his fucking, held the cock away from her, just close enough for her to remain impaled on the tip but far enough away to stop the build. He allowed her to fuck herself on it still, to the extent that she could; watched her miniscule grinding motions, the tension ripping through her body, and listened to her mewl. 

She begged without words. After two days stuffed full of this, the tip must have felt like _nothing_. Yet she felt it within her enough to cause _this_ \-- this compulsion, this sawing, self-fucking. He imagined what it must be like for her to need to be breached _this much_ , and to know that he would offer it -- but also to know, with how much he had told her, that she was not going to come until _he_ allowed it.

"Do you want more, Inquisitor?" he'd asked her softly, as her sawing motions became slower, the threat of her orgasm curling away. Sobs hitched out of her with the force of her need. She was sweating. She was gasping; she was so beautiful, far beyond words.

"Yes," she'd moaned, her face rutting against the mattress. "I want more..."

But he gave her no more; he merely set a hand against her back as she tried in vain to fuck herself on nothing, allowed her tell him four more times that she wanted more. He let her desperation break over her with every breath, with every moment that passed when it was within her so barely, only breaching her with enough to leave the lips of her slightly rounded around its very tip. 

Cullen felt at utter peace with the world. He hadn't known he could feel this way.

As she begins to tell him again how she wished for more, he'd pushed suddenly forward and pushed it fully into her in one, long stroke.

The moan that dragged from her was so total; so devastating. Cullen felt it resonate in his own ribs, as though it had traveled through the arm that held the dildo in place. He'd held it in place, held _her_ in place, her hips still compelled to move by the precedent set by earlier motion; and when finally she was still, apart from the shaking that wracked her, he let go of her, stepping back in a single chilling motion.

Wordless, motionless, he watched her then: watched the way she moved her hips, back and forth, and listened to the breaking in her throat. The shoulders of her muscles grew long; the rope that bound her wrists strung taut, and before him she moved; before him she sawed, and Cullen realized, with a spark of arousal, that the woman before him was edging herself before his very eyes, so desperate was she for any release.

She was helpless for him. The Inquisitor was helpless.

She was his -- entirely.

If he was only truly realizing it now, he found there wasn't a single thing about it he found to regret.

  



End file.
